


Blood and Blossoms

by Lilianawinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Bobby Singer is Dean Winchester's Parent, Castiel (Supernatural) Has Secrets, Dean Winchester Has Issues, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Long, M/M, Minor Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Castiel, Prankster Gabriel, Protective Bobby Singer, Protective Dean Winchester, Sad Ending, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 14:39:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17685389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilianawinchester/pseuds/Lilianawinchester
Summary: Dean has never quite fit in like Sam and John. He's never found soul bonds easy. Everything is an uphill battle against his greatest enemy, himself.Castiel finds himself unable to stay away from the earth. Always inexplicably drawn back. He's doomed to always watch over something he's never allowed to touch. Something Heaven has forbid him from interfering in.Together they will navigate their fates and the destinies Heaven has set out for them. After all, what are you supposed to do when every path Heaven has planned out ends in death? How are you supposed to win when everyone has rigged the game?





	Blood and Blossoms

**Author's Note:**

> So since this is a side project I don't know how often I'll update it. It's going to be a mess but feel free to join me through it. None of it is really planned out (except the ending) so feel free to comment any ideas - I'll try to see if I can work any into the story.

  The first thing you learn when you're immortal is that everything ends.

  My brother, Gabriel, was the first one to teach me this. When father left heaven Gabriel would often wander down onto the earth alone and sit by the waters edge for weeks on end, doing nothing but watching the creatures in the water below. This was long before humans had even been thought of when life dwelled only in the water and was still early in its development much like me.

  Since I never had much to do i would often follow him out of heaven and watch him from afar, not waiting to disrupt the tranquil atmosphere. Things were often hectic and stressful back in heaven with Michael and Lucifer at one another's throats all day long so Gabriel's need for some escape was completely understandable.

  “Come look at this Cassie.” Gabriel said one day by the expanse humans would at some point call the ocean.

  For the first time I sat beside my brother and to finally see what it was that kept him coming back here every time he was left alone (seeming as our older brothers hardly counted as supervision). Below the surface life was teeming and rushing around like i'd never seen it before. Small slimy creatures writhed under the surface impatiently.

  None of them were particularly smart. There wasn’t much point to their existence. But God had made them so they must have a purpose. A use of some kind.

  Life on earth moved hundred of times faster than it did for us angels. Everything was happening at once. Life, death, love, fury, competition, pleasure. They had no time to waste unlike us.

  “What are they?”

  “The future.” I sat back and looked at him. How could these strange slimy creatures wriggling in the water be the future? What did that even mean?

  “I don’t understand. What do you mean?” I lean closer to the water to get a better look at them all. Nothing about them radiates importance. No aura radiating from them the way angels powers radiate. No power. Nothing.

  “One day they’ll be beautiful. God’s greatest creation. Just you wait and see Cassie.” His eyes sparkle - he doesn’t even dare look away from the surface of the water.

  “What about us?”

  “They’ll be better than us. Better than all of us. Protecting them is our job, our duty.”

  Gabriel had never been a fan of his brothers arguments, that much was clear but this was different. He wasn’t a fighter, never had been but in that moment I could see what he truly was. A protector. A protector of God’s creations.

  “I don’t understand.” I hadn’t understood back then, I suppose I was too young - still only a fledgling.

  “One day…” He’d mumbled under his breath.

  He was still young himself - only a few hundred years older than me, the youngest of the archangels. I'd heard much about life from my older siblings and about fathers plan but this was nothing like I’d heard. I could tell Gabriel felt the same. His eyes would sparkle, completely captivated by all of it, drinking in whatever he could. There was a longing. A desire to be a part of it within him that was so different to my other siblings. He was the only one that ever seemed to understand what fathers plan was. To feel as he felt about these creations.

  This was the day I saw the first life go out. Since was still a fledgling, hot off the production line so everything was still new to me at this point but something about the sudden fading of a once radiant soul struck deep in my core. Perhaps Naomi was right and i was indeed born with a crack in me that made me different, _broken_ \- after all, i was never much like my siblings.

  However the look in Gabriel's eyes proved I was not alone this time.

  "What happened to it's soul?" I asked, hunched over the water, searching for what had been lost.

  "It has returned to heaven now. It's died so no longer belongs here. Its soul will instead be protected by us, the angels. This is why our job is so important." Gabriel told me.

  "Why did it die though?" I would ask him. My wings would be folded solemnly against my back, smaller and weaker than normal.

  "Because that is life. These creatures aren't like us, they live for a finite amount of time. If they never died then they'd never change or improve. These ones must end for something even more beautiful to come to pass." Gabriel would say, his hand longingly held above the water's surface.

  Unfortunately, unlike him, I never found the beauty in that side of life. In the ends and the deaths. Gabriel was always a willing observer. He'd hover in the background, observing and messing around every now and then (how did you think the Platypus was created?) but never being fully a part of any of it.

  I, on the other hand, made the mistake of getting too involved, which is how I ended up here, underneath this tree. Of course a hundred and one people told me this would happen. Life is only finite after all. I didn’t listen to anyone though. I was too caught up in the story, in the road and the wind and those same few songs that he would play on repeat.

  I allow the tears to roll freely down my cheeks, mingling with my freshly stained red trench coat. I apply as much pressure to my stomach as possible, trying to keep it all inside. Everything hurts and burns more than they ever told me. They never said it would feel like this. No one explained the feeling adequately.

  "Cas!" A familiar, heart wrenching voice calls out for me desperately. I hide myself behind the tree trunk, unable to face him right now. Looking into his eyes would only make everything hurt a hundred times worse than it does right now and this is already almost too much to bear.

 

  This is the end.

 

  I was always told that everything would end. It's only because of the end that it can change and grow and evolve like the creatures me and Gabriel would watch by the waterside that one day grew legs and walked onto the land for the first time. The same creatures that kept growing and changing (with some input from father) into humans and everything they accomplished.

  To understand the ending you need to go back right to the start.

  Before the blood and the tears and the shotgun shells.

  Before the late night kisses and stolen hugs.

  Before the sharpened knives and scars, marks and tattoos.

  Before the sound of the engines whirling and the blaring music.

  Even before the first, desperate screams and the crackling fire. All the way back to a mother sat at her sick son's side, singing a peaceful, quiet rendition of _Hey Jude_ , a song I came to know all too well.

  I'd been assigned a new charge. Angles had come a long way from just protecting souls in the after life. I suppose great wars, the creation of demons and the loss of God does that to the job description. As angels out job was often to keep important pieces alive and safeguard their soul bonds with their soul mates. Although, for the most part, the Cupids handled the creation of soul bonds and the like, but sometimes certain bonds and people were so important they had angels charged with their protection. These people have predestined roles to play in the bigger picture and their deaths could be disastrous.

  This is is how it all began.

  The boy was sick, really sick that night. To this day I still don't know how he got so sick, his parents clearly had no idea how serious it was. I was sent to the boy at exact moment I needed to be to keep the boy alive. Heaven made sure I got there in time.

  His mother was pregnant at the time. While her husband slept in the next room she sat beside the boy and sang to him, spoon feeding him tomato soup whenever he would keep it down, which wasn’t very often.

  I had sat beside her in my true form, supposedly invisible to her and the boy. I'd rather have taken a vessel so I didn’t have to worry about losing focus and accidentally burning out either of their eyes but I didn’t have time to find a suitable vessel. If I'd wasted anymore time then the boy would've died.

  I had stepped forward, trying to press my hand against his sweaty forehead, when the boy flinched back, as if he had seen my movements. At first i put it down to hallucinations or something similar - after all, in his state, there was no doubt he was hallucinating at that moment. However, as I moved once more he shifted away again.

  His bright green eyes met my own, his soul radiating with soft oranges and yellows with flickering reds like a candle. His soul overpowered his mothers and everyone else I'd ever met. It was welcoming and kind and protective, like a shield made of pure flames. Just the sight of it captivated me.

  "Shhhhh, don’t worry - I'm here to heal you, not hurt you." I whispered comfortingly, forgetting that he won’t be able to hear me in this form.

  Sure enough the windows vibrated and the baby monitor beside the bed screeched. Even the the light bulbs looked on the verge of complete destruction. Strangely enough though, the boy nodded shyly, no longer backing away from my outstretched hand.

  I pressed my hand against his head and let the power run through me. The point where my finger touched his skin shimmered with a flicker of bright blue ever so slightly. My powers ran into his body, rooting out the sickness and destroying it before it can claim the boys life. He instantly relaxed as colour flooded his features.

  "Are you an angel?" He whispered raspily, already feeling the effects of my powers.

  I nodded slowly, examining the small boy in front of me. He looked the same as all the other humans, just as small and strange with his rough, mop of hair on his head and his warm eyes. Yet somehow he was different from the others though - more alive.

  "My mom said you were watching over me." He attempted a smile but his eyes drooped sluggishly.

  "Who you talking to sweet heart?" The boy's mother pressed a cold flannel against his head.

  The boys father walked into the room, still in his pyjamas with a mug of coffee for his pregnant wife. He handed the mug over to her, taking the flannel from her hand and taking over the job of nursing his son.

  "He's hallucinating or something. Maybe we should take him to the hospital." The mother bit her bottom lip, sitting back in her chair and cradling her coffee. She made no move to drink or get up from the chair and rest.

  "I'll drive him in in the morning if he's still not getting any better. You should rest, I'll look after Dean for the rest of the evening." The mother slowly nodded and crept off to her bedroom but it was clear no one was going to be getting any sleep that night.

 _Dean_. The name suited him.

~~~

  I don’t know exactly when the next time I saw Dean was. Time passes strangely when you’re as old as I am. Short passages of time, like a year, pass seemingly in seconds making it hard to judge how much time is passing.

  Heaven hadn’t given any of us orders in months. The orders had been getting further and further apart ever since God had left heaven. No one was sure what our jobs were anymore. Even Michael seemed lost.

  Despite my free time I’d still managed to get to the Winchesters too late to stop everything from happening. The house had already burnt down to the ground before I’d even touched down in my new vessel.

  When I arrived Dean was stood alone in front of the impala in his pyjamas. He had a small bundle in his arms, although due to his small size it appeared much bigger than it would’ve if I had been holding it. From a distance it was hard to tell but it looked like he was crying. His face was buried in the fabric of the bundle in a weak attempt to hide his tears.

  I had no clue where is father was but it was evident the people around them were too busy trying to make sure the fire didn’t spread and the other residents were safe to comfort the child.

  I awkwardly shuffled towards Dean, unsure of how one is supposed to act in these situations. In all my 450 million years of life, this was a first. Heaven didn’t tend to bother preparing it’s angels for such an occasion. We’re heavens warriors and messengers, why would we need to know these things?

  “Are you okay?” I asked tentatively, keeping as much distance as I could distance between us both.

  Startled, Dean instantly lifted his head out of the fabric and gritted his teeth.

  “Of course I’m okay, I’m a big boy. I need to protect Sammy until Mommy gets back.” Dean gestured with his head to the bundle that filled his arms.

  Since his head was now out of the fabric I could properly make out what was underneath all the fabric. It was a small baby, only a few months old. I remembered having seen the mother pregnant so this must’ve been the child. _Sammy_.

  “Is Mommy going to be okay?” Dean asked, his strong man persona faltering.

  I had already heard of Mary Winchester’s arrival in heaven before coming to earth so I told him the only thing I could:

  “Your mother has died and is in heaven. She’ll be safe and happy now.”

  “Oh.” Dean’s lip wobbled and is arms tightened around the bundle protectively. He didn’t cry a single tear but I wonder if he had any left to cry at that point. From my knowledge of humans it seems after a while you can run out of tears. The sadness is still there, I think, but you can be too tired to cry.

  As he shifted his arm slightly the sleeve of his pyjama top hitched up showing the skin on his arm was mildly burnt but had clearly been treated by a paramedic on the scene. More curiously was a sloppy “sorry” scrawled on his arm in blue ink beside the patch of burnt skin. I didn’t pretend to be an expert on human customs but I certainly couldn’t think of a purpose or reasoning behind the odd, childlike writing.

  Before I could investigate any further, the boy’s father returned, grabbing Dean by the arm gently and guiding him into the car.

  “I’ve found us a motel room we can stay in until we get a new house. You and Sammy will be safe there while I sort all of this out.” The father explained to Dean, breaking him out of his traumatised daze somewhat.

  “Don’t worry, it’s only temporary. The nice police lady said we should be able to be living a new house by Christmas. We could get a bigger garden this time so we can properly teach Sammy to kick a ball around if you like.” The father tried to smile but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  Dean simply stared out of the car window, holding his baby brother as close to his body as he could and watched the smoking remnants of his house fade away as he drove away from me and the house into an uncertain future.

~~~

 Hannah has asked me if I would change anything, knowing what I know now. If I could go back to the day Dean prayed to me would I change my response? Would I follow heavens orders? If I hadn’t answered his prayer then I would never have gotten caught up in their world. Both Dean and I would’ve gone on with our lives without meeting on another and screwing up heaven hell and everything in between in the process.

  I’ve often thought about what would’ve happened if I’d shown a bit more restraint. If I’d done as heaven wished and kept myself out of the dealings of humans. Would people I loved still have died? Would Dean have been happier?

  I know I wouldn’t have been happier. It was worth every second, even the bad ones. 

  As Gabriel would say: there’s no point in dwelling on what could’ve been or trying to avoid fate. Things will always happen how they happened, and this is how they happened.

  “Hello Mr. Angel.” The prayer had gone straight to me specifically - a first for a nobody angel like me.

  “I know you fixed me when I was sick before, even if Dad says that I was just imagining you.”

  I turned my attention to the now five year old Dean, who was kneeling on the stained floor of a motel room. It was three in the morning where he was and he was all alone. On closer inspection he was kneeling in front an equally stained, grimy looking bed that he could just about see over as he knelt.

  He looked very different to the boy he’d been a year before. He looked much older than he should’ve despite being skinnier and not much taller than he had been before.

  His soul was still as beautiful and colourful as before but it was much duller, like diluted water colours.

  “Sammy isn’t doing too good and Dad’s still not back. I would go out and buy more medicine on my own but Dad told me not to leave Sammy alone and I spent the last of the money on medicine a few days ago and it’s all runned out but he’s not better.”

  Dean broke his prayer for a second to check on his sweaty, sleeping brother on the bed in front of him. There was only one bed and one crib in the room; a crib for Sam and a bed for Dean. Since Sam was on Dean’s bed, the covers from the crib had been stripped and put in the bath tub to function as Dean’s bed until Sam got better.

  “I was real sick like Sammy is now so I know you can fix him with your angel magic. I don’t need presents or anything this year - I know Santa’s not real anyway - I just need to protect Sammy. I’ll even stop asking you to give Mommy back if you fix Sammy, I promise. Please!” Dean’s voice cracked as he pleaded for some kind of help.

  I could tell Sam wasn’t too sick - nowhere near as bad as Dean had been when I healed him. It was only a flu and would’ve passed in a few days, any doctor could’ve told him that. For a small boy it must’ve been pretty scary, he likely hadn’t seen a sick baby before.

  I couldn’t help but wonder where the boys father was - I could’ve sworn he said they’d be in a new house before Christmas. Instead the boys had be left alone and sick in a motel room for days. It wasn’t my place to interfere with any of that though. It was all heavens plan, and Heaven certainly had a plan for these two.

  If the boy’s sickness was just going to pass anyway in a few days though what was the harm in speeding up the process? That wasn’t changing heavens plan at all. Nothing would change. No one in Heaven would even notice. So, against all my programming and orders, I left Heaven again to visit the Winchesters in their dingy motel room in the middle of nowhere.

  This time, knowing Dean could see and hear me, I kept myself better concealed. He didn’t need to know I had interfered. No one did. The last sighting could be put down to delirium but if I appeared again to him he would be certain of my existence. He might’ve been a child but he wasn’t an idiot.

  Without anything seeing me, I hovered my hand before the now considerably bigger Sammy and chased away the sickness. Much like Dean had done when I healed him, Sammy instantly gained colour in his cheeks and his breathing grew less ragged and pained.

  There was something immensely satisfying about the experience that I had never felt before. When I had healed people before it was on Heaven’s orders and it was different to do it of my own accord. I was helping someone I didn’t need to help. Doing it simply for the person and not for Heaven.

~~~

  It became a bit of a habit, visiting the Winchesters. I never got another prayer from Dean (not even one regarding Mary, true to his word) so I didn’t even have that as an excuse.

  Their father, who I came to know was called John, didn’t seem to be around much. My visits have been infrequent but I still found it odd that I never saw the man. He was a hunter and seemed busy with work a lot of the time. Occasionally he would drop the boys off at a friend, Bobby’s, house. From what I could tell, Bobby seemed to be a stand in father, mother and teacher for the boys since John was too busy with hunting and tracking Azazel.

  On one such trip to Bobby’s I finally saw John for the first time since the fire. Dean must have been about to turn seven since it was early January and the snow was falling thick.

  John had left Sam with Bobby to take Dean out for the day. Normally I would’ve left quickly, only staying long enough to make sure they were both fed and healthy before returning to heaven but I couldn’t help but be curious about John. So I followed the pair through the snow to the back of Bobby’s house and observed the scene from afar.

  John left Dean around the back of the house and headed round the front to collect something from the car. Dean waited patiently, bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet and shivering. He looked cold, wet and tired and yet still managed to seem happier and more excited than I’d ever seen.

  John quickly returned with two large guns in his hands. He handed the smaller of the two to Dean. Even though it was the smaller gun it still looked huge in Dean’s hands. He clumsily lifted it up, trying to mimic something from a film. He was completely out of his depth, buckling under the weight of the gun.

  John laughed kindly at the messy scene his son was painting. Once his laughing had died down he knelt down in the snow to get to Deans level and began helping him hold it properly. He adjusted his grip and stance patiently and gently, guiding Dean rather than forcefully moving him. Dean was a quick learner, adapting his stance and everything quickly and almost perfectly mirroring his dad.

  “That’s it, you’re getting it.” John said proudly, ruffling Dean’s hair. Dean looked up at his dad, beaming with pride.

  He puffed out his chest and focused on the range that had been set up on the fence posts in front of them. There wasn’t much to shoot but John had found some old beer bottles and cans as targets.

  “You gotta aim now. Try aiming for the closest bottle, just look down the barrel and focus on the bead in the middle of the cross hairs instead of the bottle.” Dean shifts his stance to aim at the central bottle, “Now just breathe in deeply and squeeze the trigger.”

  Dean stayed level headed, breathing slowly as his dad told him to. The shot missed the bottle as expected but he isn’t bothered and nor is John. No one is surprised.

  They spent all evening out there in the yard shooting the bottles, skipping dinner to perfect the shot. Miraculously, despite it being the first time he shot a gun, he managed to get a bulls eye on each bottle before the sun set on the day

  “You’re going to make a fine hunter when you’re bigger, Dean. You’re a good soldier. You’ll save a lot of people.” Pride boasted through his voice as he regarded his oldest son. His soldier.

  John was right though, he was going to be a good soldier when he grew up. That was heavens plan for him and nothing gets in the way of Heavens plan. Not even for a six year old boy.

~~~

  John left the boys at Bobby’s for longer than usual that time. Normally they never stayed there for longer than two weeks but this time they were there for months after Dean’s seventh birthday.

  The longest they’d stayed still since the fire.

  Bobby took care of them well so I visited them less than I would’ve while they were moving around. The only time I visited them in the months they were there was on a sunny early June day.

  Sam was sleeping in the sun in his pushchair. He hardly stayed still in the days since turning three. He was clearly going to grow into a fine little runner with those long legs and his boundless reserves of energy. His antics kept Dean on his toes at all times so the times when he was asleep were a welcome break for the older Winchester.

  Dean and Bobby had decided to make the most of this free time to play around with a baseball in the park. Sam was still clearly in Deans line of sight as he always was these days, but he seemed to otherwise have forgotten to act like a dad. Instead his thoughts were on the game at hand.

  He was better at it than you would’ve thought for a boy who hadn’t played in three years. His aim was dead accurate every time, even if he sometimes tripped over tree roots in his desperate dashes for the balls Bobby threw.

  It was a happy scene. Normal.

  So I flew away and didn’t look back for once. If only things could’ve stayed that way for longer.

~~~

  I don’t know when John came back for them, I’d stopped checking up on them after that June day. It could’ve been days or months after I saw them - I never did ask Dean about that (not that he’d remember).

  The next time I ran across them was over a year later in a remote vampire den in Nebraska. Dean was alone in the middle of all the chaos without John or even Bobby there to defend him.

  I don’t know where Sam was, he was only four so I can’t imagine Dean left him alone. Bobby would’ve never let John take Dean on a hunt though so who knows.

  Dean was clearly meant to be the bait, armed only with a small knife covered in dead man’s blood from what i could see. He was dwarfed by the dark, crushing walls of the decrepit den. He looked almost lost in the maze around him.

  “What are you doing all the way out here, little one?” One of the vampires approached Dean, fangs extended. He grinned viciously, circling and prowling around Dean, barely holding himself back from the kill.

  “I got separated from my dad…” He said apprehensively, better at acting than I’d given him credit for. Then again, perhaps he didn’t need to feign the fear.

  “What a shame.” The vampire snarled. The circles it’s pacing around Dean are getting smaller and smaller with every second.

  “I should probably be heading back now. I don’t think he came this way.” Dean mumbled, trying to back away as slowly as he can without provoking the vampire. Before Dean could get any further away the vampire darted forward, lunging at Dean.

  I was about to intervene and kill the vampire on the spot when Dean whipped out his knife in record time, slashing the head of the vampire off in a quick, clean stroke. It rolls off cleanly, bouncing along the floor loudly - a beacon to every vampire in the building.

  Blood splattered across his face, highlighting the shock and terror on his face. The knife shakes in his hand. He tries to conceal it but he’s in too much shock to do a good job of hiding it.

  There’s a difference between training all your life and the first kill. I’ve been alive long enough to see that difference in more people than anyone should have to see it in. Everyone might be different but that look on their face is always the same. It feels wrong to see it on someone so young though.

  Without time to process his own shock, he begins running, hearing the footsteps of the vampires hot on his trail. Once again I need to physically stop myself from jumping in to save him. Heaven doesn’t want me to intervene or I would’ve received orders by now. After all, Dean is my charge.

  Dean sprinted as fast as he can out of the door, leading the three other vampires straight into the trap that was waiting outside the den. They close the gap between them and him with every second, steadily running him down.

  John had strung up some fine wire across the doorway at neck height. Dean bent down and ran underneath the wire, clearing the path for the vampires to follow him. They didn’t have the foresight of knowing the wire was there though unlike Dean so the first one runs straight through the wire, cutting its head off.

  The other two weren’t quite as lucky though.

  The second vampire managed to slow down enough to stop it’s head from completely severing - half of the head stayed attached to its neck. It screamed loudly as it tried to free itself from the wire and just ending up digging the wire deeper into its neck.

  The third vampire never reached the wire, seeing it’s dead brothers around it. It was clearly more careful and prepared than the rest after seeing the death surround it but it wasn’t prepared enough for John Winchester. Although it managed to escape from the building it was faced with John who certainly didn’t give the vampire as painless a death as the wire and Dean gave the others.

  Dean watched the entire thing in ill disguised horror. He might’ve known what his dad did on these hunts but everything was happening too quickly for him to process it all.

  Once John was finished extracting all the information he needed from the third vampire he approached Dean, still covered from head to toe in blood. He wiped his machete on his shirt - trying to get the worst of the blood off with his already filthy shirt. He handed to machete to Dean and smiled weakly.

  “This’ll be better for next time. It cuts easier than the knife.”

  He wrapped Deans hand around the handle and takes Deans wrist in his hand, moving Dean's hand in the slashing motion needed to behead a vampire. Dean nodded along with his dad but it was clear he was still shaking.

  “It’s over now Dean. You need to be grown up now and relax. They were just vamps. They were killing people so they deserved every second of it.” John says sternly, letting go of Deans wrist and stalking over to the impala, chucking the wire and all his other _‘tools’_ into the trunk.

  “I know. Shoot first, ask questions later right?”

  “Ummm...not quite...you know what don’t worry. You did good today regardless.” John smiles, “Here, why don’t you choose some music for the way back?” John hands Dean the box of tapes.

  Dean hesitated, unsure how to react to the gesture. He gently roots through the tapes being as careful as he can with each. He eventually settles on one, cautiously handing it to his dad.

  “Good choice, son.” Dean grins, relieved. John laughs and puts the tape in, relaxing into his chair despite the stench of his clothes.

  “When’s the next hunt then?” Dean asks, bouncing subtly in his chair.

  “You’ve got to stay at home with Sammy to protect him. That’s your job until Sammy is old enough to come on the hunts with us.”

  “No!” Dean shouts adamantly, “Sammy isn’t ever going to know. He is going to be normal.” Dean frowns, refusing to look at his dad. John scowls, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there Dean.”

~~~

  As much as I tried to stay away there were times between hard missions where I would end up straying back to whatever run down motel room the Winchester’s were staying in in search of some relief from the comings and goings of heaven and it’s angels.

  Dean would spend hours sat on the floor with Sam after school playing with the few toys they had. Often the only toys they would have were things Dean had made for Sam to play with.

  It turns out hunting doesn’t pay well and while Dean tried to save as much money as he could on food for the both of them money was still tight. Toy were a luxury that Dean couldn’t afford even if it was for Sam.

  “Look Dean!” Sammy squealed, shoving the back of his hand in Deans face.

  “What is it, Sammy?” Dean grumbled, trying to fix the conker wheel back onto the handmade car they’d been playing with.

  “It’s my soulmate!” He pushed his hand back into Deans face again, “She’s done flowers this time!”

  There was a small cut on the back of Sam’s hand, the result of their rough play earlier. Slowly rainbow flowers were forming in a ring around the cut in a little heart shape. Each one was lovingly drawn despite the messy lines and strange, oddly shaped petals. A result of his soul bond. Drawings from his soulmate.

  “Do my cuts hurt her?” Sam asked Dean, cradling his hand, completely engrossed in his soulmates drawings around the miniature injuries.

  “She feels whatever you feel but it doesn’t really hurt her. She’ll have a mark from it but it won’t really be there.”

  “But she feels it still.” Sam frowns, scooting closer to his older brother, “What about when you come back hurt? Does your soulmate feel as hurt as you?”

  “I don’t know.” Dean grumbles, done with the conversation.

  He sets down the toy, turning his full attention onto Sammy to try and finish the conversation as quickly as possible. Normally he has a seemingly endless patience for his brother but he there are still some things he can’t talk about even with Sam.

  “Doesn’t she draw you flowers?”

  “Not everyone wants to draw flowers Sammy. Not all soulmates are like yours.” Dean played with his sleeve edges.

  “Whatever. Can I have some pens. I wanna draw her some stars.” Sammy grins, bouncing around hyped up on sugar from the cereal Dean had let him have for dinner.

  “There should be some next to the bed.” Dean pointed at the bedside table, the toy car completely forgotten.

  Sam ran over to the bedside table and brought back a whole rainbow of pens. They were pretty old at this point, I’d seen them use them several times before. Even though they’d been expensive they’d lasted years so were worth the money.

  “Can you throw me one?”

  “What colour?” Sam asked, rifling through the limited range with his pudgy five year old fingers.

  “Whatever colour you think I should use.”

  “Blue. It suits you.” Sam threw the blue pen to Dean from across the room. Dean caught it with one hand, lifting the edge of his shirt up with the other.

  Sam was too preoccupied with his wobbly stars to pay attention but I wasn’t. I watched Dean scrawl another _‘sorry’_ beside a werewolf scratch that ran across his side. Another curious thing about Dean. He’d been doing it for as long as I’d known him, but I still hadn’t figured out the meaning behind it.

~~~

  With every year the differences between Sam and Dean became more pronounced. They had been raised very differently despite spending almost every possible sleeping and waking minute together.

  While Dean was the soldier - working with guns, salt and iron - Sam was the scholar, choosing pens and words over his brothers brutish, physical problem solving. The life Dean wanted for him. The life I’m sure their mother would have wanted for him. For both of them.

  Just looking at the way they spent their evenings reflected their differences. Sam would scrawl his way through pages of homework and the mountains of extra credit work, something that was reflected in his constantly high grades.

  Dean would spend those hours cooking, cleaning, working on tasks from his dad and only when all of that is done would he work on his homework. As the workload got harder he stopped bothering even attempting to find time to complete school work.

  “What are you doing?” Sam frowned, looking up from his work to inspect the mess Dean was making of the dinner table.

  Dean's dinner was still on the kitchen counter, untouched. There wasn't enough space on the tiny table for the gun, Sam’s work and both their dinners and Dean decided he would rather finish his gun than eat. I suspect it was cold by that point but Deans was a long way from caring.

  “What are you doing? What seven year old does homework willingly?” Dean scoffed. He fiddled happily with the shotgun, marking the gun carefully. He could mantle and dismantle it with the skill of someone three times his age.

  “I just want to make sure I don’t fall behind. We move a lot so it’s hard to keep up sometimes.” Sam huffed, crossing his arms and scowling.

  “Yeah but you’re super smart. Us moving around doesn’t affect your grades at all.”

  “Doesn’t mean I’m not going to keep working hard.” Sam frowns, looking down at the large pile of work he was easily working through.

  “I’m modifying the gun to be like dads.” Dean grins, circling back to the original topic as a distraction.

  “What are the lines for?” Sam put down his pen, taking a quick break from his work to pull his brother out of his own little world.

  “They’re to mark where I’m going to saw the barrel.”

  “Do you want my help?”

  “Nah, I want to do this on my own - besides, one of us should at least be smart.” Dean nodded to the pile of work in front of Sam that was mostly complete at that point.

  “You’re smart too. You’re the smartest big brother ever. I’m going to be just like you when I’m bigger.” Sam said sincerely.

  Dean laughs at the thought, turning back down to his shotgun before Sam can see the tears welling up in his eyes. With his eyes turned away from Sam he completely missing how Sam’s eyes reflected nothing but admiration for his brother. It’s easy to miss the love in another's eye when you’re not looking for it. When you don’t expect it to be there.

~~~

  I never really cared for Christmas, not that I understood it. The traditions of humans have always been puzzling to say the least. Most of what I know about Christmas comes from the Winchesters and their Christmas’ never were traditional even when they were older - especially when they were older.

  “Merry Christmas Sammy!” Dean woke Sam up with a cheery grin and a warm, big cooked breakfast. As big as they could afford anyway.

  Dean hadn’t eaten breakfast yet but he would scrounge up some scraps for himself to eat later when Sam wasn’t looking. That was what he always did when John wasn’t going to be coming back for a while. The best way to make the food last longer while keeping the fat on Sam’s bones.

  “Is dad back?” Sam asked, already knowing what the answer is going to be. Always knowing what the answer is going to be.

  “Not yet but there’s still time.” Sam sighed, turning away from Dean grouchily, “Hey! You know he’s busy with work all the time.”

  “Too busy for his sons on Christmas day? What a great dad.” Sam drawlled sarcastically.

  “His job is important, he saves people! Besides he’s the one paying for the food on the table so you should be more grateful.” Dean said defensively, crossing his arms and scowling at Sam.

  “His job as a mechanic saves people? What kind of world are you living in? There’s never any food on the table or money for anything. We never even had toys growing up! I bet those presents under the tree are all stolen like always.” Sam gestured to the two measly presents under the tree, all that Dean had managed to get that year.

  I hated it when they argued. Families don’t tend to be functional but I’d seen what an absent father did to a family. To my family. Seeing more than a select few of my brothers and sisters was impossible then and it’s even harder now. Lucifer had been banished, Michael fancied himself the new boss up in heaven and no one knew where Gabriel was anymore.

  I’d tried looking for him many times but he was always good at hiding. He must have found his place amongst humanity, where he always truly belonged. I hoped he would come back, maybe fix things back in heaven but mostly I hoped he alive and safe. He’d always been quite the trouble maker when I was a fledgling - but in a different way to Lucifer. Not in a malicious way, after all, he was the peace keeper. Never the warrior.

  The boys didn’t have much but they should have a semi functional family, so I stepped in. I blew the lights in the room, plunging them into darkness suddenly. Although the curtains were drawn it was a dark, dreary day - providing little light despite it being late morning.

  After a few seconds of darkness Dean pulled out Johns lighter he always kept in his pocket - flicking it on quickly with a swift flick of his finger. It wasn’t much light but it made a faint orb of light around Deans fist, illuminating their faces in the sea of darkness.

  “I’ll grab the candles.” Sam sighs, putting the food to one side and slipping out of bed to look.

  He returned in less than a minute with his hands filled with a variety of different candles. Dean lit them all one by one as Sam dotted them around the room to try and brighten the room as much as possible.

  “That’s all of them.” Sam says as he places the last candle in front of the home cooked meal on the bedside table.

  “That’s slightly better at least. Now I can see your ugly mug.” Dean smirked.

  “Whatever.” Sam began tucking into the food - their argument about John smoke in the wind.

  Dean left Sam’s side to go get the pathetic looking presents from under the tree. He walked back to the bed and placed them in front of Sam.

  “They’re not stolen. I promise.” He smiled reassuringly and gave Sam some room to open them.

  Dean his twitching concealed by the semi-darkness, as Sam opened the presents. They weren’t much, just a notebook and a box of chocolates but Sam loved them like he always did despite Deans worrying.

  “I got you something.” Sam said, reaching under his pillow to find a crumpled looking present with Deans name on it.

  “Why was that under your pillow?” Dean asked, unsure whether he should take it from his brother.

  “It was the only place where you wouldn’t find it and tell me off for buying you something.”

  “What money did you buy it with?” Dean frowned, confused.

  “A friend gave me money for my birthday.”

  “And you saved it only to spend it on me? You should’ve kept that for yourself Sammy. You know we don’t get much.”

  “Exactly. You always get me something so I decided to get you something this time.”

  “You got me the necklace last year.” Dean defended his brother to his brother.

  “That was for dad really but he didn’t turn up as usual.” Dean was about to protest and start the argument again but Sam simply held up a hand to silence him, “Just open the damn present and stop complaining.” Sam turned back to the rapidly cooling food laying forgotten on the bedside table.

  Dean cautiously opened the present, as if it might explode at any second. He preserves the wrapping paper as much as possible even though it’s already in bad shape. A small packet of coloured pens fall out of the paper as he opens it, tipping onto the bed before Dean can catch them.

  “You always use my pens so I figured it was time for you to have your own.”

  Dean pulled Sam into a rough hug, burying his face into Sam’s shoulder. He hides the tears in the mass of fabric that is Sam, keeping his tears silent and few.

  “Thank you Sammy.”

  The clouds in the sky parted to reveal a brighter, hopeful day despite the Christmas chill.


End file.
